That Time My Ex Tried To Start A Business

It was four years into our marriage, our daughter had just been born, and we were broke. My ex (husband still at the time), unbeknownst to me was not only blowing all our money on drugs, but he was also stealing money from the family business that he worked for and was blowing through that as well. No pun intended.

He was disappearing for days at a time and when he would come home, he would stumble through the door only to pass out in the middle of the wood floor, where I would find him in the morning when my alarm clock went off; the alarm clock that I would set so that I could get up and try to get him up for work. Most days “get him up for work” meant literally shoving him towards his truck after I had lost the battle of trying to get him to take a shower. Many days he would be sent home from work for “inappropriate attire” (aka, he was a filthy, disgusting, mess of a human being), and yet he wouldn’t actually come home, he would just simply disappear again and the cycle would continue.

Eventually my family decided to stage an intervention with him. Like an actual intervention.

Their concern had nothing to do with me or with him, but they were more concerned with what I call the “trickle effect.” They didn't care about my husband or what he was doing to me, but if his behaviors were affecting the family business (that he worked for), well then that was a problem, because if it to the point where they could no longer employ him, well then we might become homeless and try to move in with them! (GASP)

So the intervention was set in motion. My father and brothers came over, and as I hung out on the sidelines, they waited for my ex to get home. When he came through the door they sat him down and told him how concerned they were, that they were here to help, and then they started to lay out a plan as to how they could fix him.

It was very reality-TV-ish and in my ex's typical fashion, he sat there telling everyone why everything wrong in his life was someone else’s fault (mostly mine of course). All that did was cause my father (who was apparently too overbearing towards my ex) and brother (who was apparently mean to him at work) to continue to get more irritated with him. 

Eventually everyone was yelling at each other and at the end of the intervention it was decided that my husband was simply just an irresponsible jerk.

What a surprise.

Now my ex, he didn't usually care what anyone thought of him, but as the meeting disbanded and my family made their way out the door they began to laugh at me ex’s stupidity, and that hit a nerve with him.

Apparently you can hate him, but you cannot laugh at him.

Now from my end that actually seemed to work in my favor because over the course of the next few weeks, anytime I would bring up the topic of money he would tell me that he had a plan. It was supposedly a plan that was not only going to prove my family wrong, but was going to pay off big.

“Sure, sure ya do.” I would find myself thinking. “What are we going to do, start stealing people’s recycling and selling it to the government directly? What plan could a man who can’t even bathe himself possible come up with?”

I didn’t have a clue, but whatever it was, he seemed pretty confident that it was our ticket to fame and fortune.

Instead of disappearing 7 nights a week, I would find him home one or two of those nights working on this “plan” in our office. For a while I was convinced that he was probably locked away in there playing video games and watching porn, but on several occasions as I pressed my ear to the door I could hear… typing. And paper rustling. And other sounds that I had never heard before in relation to him, but they sounded exactly like what I might have envisioned it would sound like if he were actually working.

Working? Him? Was that even possible?

I had no idea, but I was intrigued.

One day a couple of months later my ex called me from work and told me that tonight was the night. Tonight would be the night of the big unveiling, the night where I would finally be let in on the plan.

I dunno guys, but I was kind of excited. I mean I hadn’t seen him this involved in anything that wasn’t a woman who wasn’t me, a hypodermic needle, or fabricating a lie, in a really, really, long time, so whatever this was, it must be good!

I put my daughter to bed early, made a nice dinner, my ex and I actually ate together (gasp!) before he led me to the couch and asked me to wait there a minute, he needed to get his presentation.

PRESENTATION.

You guys, at that point I was pretty sure that he was just momentarily leaving the room to let The Publishers Clearing House people in, because I was under the impression that I was about to hit the jackpot.

There was a presentation!

Unfortunately he was the only one who came back into the room and I’m sad to say that he was not carrying an oversized cardboard check containing a beautiful amount of zeros, but what he was holding was a poster board, complete with diagrams, and a spread sheet glued onto it.

HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?

Who the hell stole his DNA off of a supposedly recycled soda can and made a clone out of my husband? Clearly this is not my husband and I would like to find that clone maker and have crazy thank-you sex with whoever has delivered this new and improved version of him.

So the husband clone starts out his PRESENTATION and I was nothing short of astonished. It had start-up costs, long term projection goals, etc, etc, and while that was all wonderful and great, I still had no clue what the actual idea was.

“Uh… so what is it? Like what is the business? Are we selling something? Making something? Providing a service of some kind? Investing in lotto tickets? Selling our kidneys?” I rambled off as I eagerly awaited the moment when I would learn how we were going to become rich.

“SSSHHHH I WILL GET TO THAT” was sternly whispered in my direction.

Ok geez, I will not interrupt the miracle that is unfolding before my eyes; apparently miracles are very testy.

So I waited, and I waited, and I waited, and he talked, and he talked, and he talked, and eventually when I could no longer contain myself anymore I burst out with “BUT WHAT IS THE BUSINESS!?”

“Ok. Fine. Now just remember, be open minded. Just trust me, this is going to work. I got the idea from a late night infomercial.”

Wonderful, we were about to start selling sex toys.

“Ok. Ok. Ok.” he stammers out. “Now what I was thinking was that I can set the shop up in the garage. I’ll order all the supplies and you and I can form a sort of production team. I’ll make the product and sell it online, and then you take it to the post office and ship it. Oh and you collect the payments.”

Oh. We are making it in the garage and you are going to make me responsible for the transport of the goods and the financial transactions?

Apparently we are opening a meth lab and we wants me to be the dealer.

“Seriously, what the hell are we making because I have a clean criminal record and I’d like to keep it that way” I said.

“Ok. But remember. Be open minded” he replied.

I AM BEING FUCKING OPEN MINDED NOW WHAT KIND OF DRUGS ARE WE SELLING?

“Scented lotion” he said.

"Yep, I knew it, we are cooking meth!!" I thought. Wait... WHAT?

Back up the truck.

My brain had no idea what language we were suddenly speaking, but I had just heard something I couldn't even begin to understand. “Sccceeeennnnttttteeeeeddddd looootttiiiooonnnn?” I asked very slowly, as I tried to figure out what kind of drug had the street name “scented lotion.”

“Yes, scented lotions” he stated.

“OH HA HA HA, ya got me there, very funny, now really, what are we selling?” I asked again.

“Scented lotion” he replied. Again.

“Like bath salts? Like the street drug bath salts?” I inquired, still trying to figure out what my completely irresponsible drug addict of a husband was talking about.

“No, like actual scented lotion. For your skin” said my ex. “I can buy all the supplies online and then we can mix up our own scents and sell them on Ebay.”

And then I lost it.

I don’t know why, but I absolutely lost my fucking mind. I wasn’t angry, I wasn't trying to be rude to him, it was more like I had a mental break down where I started laughing, and then it turned into a strange maniacal cackle where I almost could not catch my breath. I mean I just could not stop! But really, come on now, in my defense how absolutely absurd is this situation? My drug addicted, abusive, thief of a husband, who disappears for days on end, rarely makes it to work, and who hasn’t showered in 9 days, wants to open up a Bath and Body Works in the garage?

Who would take that seriously?

Not me, that’s for sure.

"Oh hello wife, I'm sorry that I've been gone for 11 days because I was lying in a crack house somewhere, but I just popped home to whip up a quick batch of the gingerbread body butter for the Christmas sale."

RIGHT. SURE.

When I was finally able to catch my breath, stop laughing, had wiped the tears from my cheeks, I said “Uh, yea, I think I’m going to have a problem investing $6k into your garage lotion shop, because I know I would be the one who ends up running this whole thing, and I’m not sure who on Ebay is going to seek out ‘Eden’s garage lotion’ as a Christmas present in the middle of a recession.”

He was not pleased.

He flipped out, started throwing his display props around, slapped me across the face, called me an unsupportive bitch, and then stormed out of the house— slaming the door so hard that a picture fell off the wall.

Hum… I guess that wasn’t a clone after all.

My bad.

But seriously, come on now. If you can’t even figure out how bad you smell, I’m certainly not trusting you to run a fragrance shop.

So that was the beginning and the end of the garage lotion shop, a company that almost got up and running, but never did.

Like that would have ever happened.

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Photo Credits
Angry Boy
Chill Baby
Chairs
Little Girl